Two Wrongs Trying to Make a Right

Saturday night was another Big Gay Apple party at Pieces. Frankly, I never know what to expect from these parties. The first two were fun, if uneventful. The last one was a little lackluster. At one of them I ended up making out with the special guest porn star, who insisted on pulling my dick out in the back room. This time I took someone home with me.

His name was Matt and he sort of looked and spoke a lot like Christian Slater circa Heathers, except blonde. He was wearing a polo and patchwork plaid shorts and Docksiders. He looked like he’d stepped out of a catalogue shoot for Belk. Not my type at all. I don’t know how I came to be flirting with him. At first I was only talking to him to get his email address for the site. He kept touching me and trying to put his arm around me, but somehow I managed to evade him while remaining mere inches from him. I kept thinking, Walk away, walk away! But I didn’t. And when I finally had to go do some work – setting up interviews with porn stars – he waited around for me.

We ordered drinks and sat at the bar and started kissing. I kept having to run away to give people t-shirts and collect email addresses. And then I’d come back and put my hand on Matt’s fuzzy blonde knee and slide it up his WASPy golfer shorts and squeeze his thing.

I probably would have left it at that, if not for something my friend Rich said to me.

“Why aren’t you home fucking that boy? You’re only thin once!”

After three Jack and Cokes, this seemed like sage advice, and I told Rich so.

At my place, I made Matt strip as soon as he walked in the door. I wanted to just look at him for a minute, take him in, figure him out. I needed a minute to decide what I thought of him. I wanted to look at his dick and his ass and his eyes and his mouth. I wanted information. I would have like to spy on him in his natural habitat. I wanted to watch him masturbate. I think I needed him to make me want him. Or maybe I just didn’t like the fact that I didn’t know anything about him.

I took a step back, but he followed, reaching for me, trying to undo my belt. Clearly, he was more eager than I was, and there was no evading him now. I got naked and I stopped moving away from him. We traveled from my livingroom to my bedroom to the kitchen floor and back to the bedroom. It didn't really feel like we were having sex. It felt like when I was 12 and so horny and frustrated and I had no idea what to do about it except press myself against a naked man and hope that would take care of it. It felt like square pegs, like two wrongs trying to make a right.

The next morning I felt sticky and moist and my throat was dry.